


Origin of Love

by kookaburrito



Category: Glee, Glee RPF, MIKA (Musician) RPF, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Cross-cultural, Fling - Freeform, France (Country), Hedonistic, M/M, Seaside, Slow Build, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: August 2012. Just before Season 4 of Glee starts filming, Chris Colfer decides to have a two-week vacation in a secluded inn on the Southern coast of France, devoting himself entirely to novel-writing. Little does he know, that he will soon run into the famous singer Mika, who will paint his summer vacation with a lot more vibrant hues, giving it an entirely new meaning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was born from a dream I had, probably also in 2012 or equally long ago in the prehistoric era. The draft has been calling to me all these years, and I know that no one actually cares about this ship (and I do not particularly care for RPF actually), I could not help imagine these two talented young men meeting by chance and realizing their paths are quite similar. I know that it will be a miracle if you even stumble upon this fic, but if you read it and enjoy it, it will be my absolute pleasure. 
> 
> Also, I have no idea what Mika is like in real life (despite having met him once after a concert), I’ve only read a couple of his interviews. So if I offend some die-hard Mika fans with an inaccurate totally imaginary portrayal, I’m very sorry. However this is a work of fiction and it is supposed to be inaccurate and totally imaginary, thank you very much. (I could even add zombies or dinosaurs and no one could stop me. There are no zombies or dinosaurs here, though, so don’t worry.)
> 
> Also, if you are here just because you are waiting for an update of Love Me Like a Hufflepuff, I am terribly sorry, I give you permission to make a voodoo doll out of me and make me suffer. However, know that I will finish it, because that story is very dear to my heart as well.

It was an early Sunday morning, and the light sea breeze brought freshness, giving a false hope that the upcoming heat will not be as unbearable as expected from a summer day. 

He did not know how it happened, but Chris found himself sharing a delicious breakfast with two lovely old ladies on the terrace of an inn on the coast of Provence, where he was spending his brief summer vacation. He might have accidentally occupied their usual table, or maybe they just wanted to sit with him – he was not sure. Anyway, they did not seem angry, and actually smelled like his grandma, and that brought a strange sense of peace over him, that should not have normally been present in such an awkward situation. Indeed, this state of affairs was not normal in the least. He was utterly free to do as he pleases for a whole of two weeks, he did not have to memorize crazy choreography or complicated lines, and that in itself was a miracle. 

Chris could not believe he listened to his family and friends and actually slammed on the brakes of his life, and now was as far away from home as he could possibly be, and all he had to work on was just… breathing. 

He turned to the lady who was sitting closer to him and offered her half of his croissant, which she accepted with a distinct grandma-noise and a flow of French words. Despite not understanding a word of what the lady with the floral hat was telling him (as his French was still pretty basic), he was on cloud nine.

Having wrapped Season 3 and published his first children’s book, which had turned out to be a hit; written, produced and starred in a movie; gone on the Glee tour; attended hundreds of his own book signings; and basically having had his whole life turned upside down in the past three years, it was not easy for Chris to find the time or motivation to relax.

Most of the time Chris made an effort not to pinch himself, or snap a rubber band on his wrist to make sure he was not sleeping. His whole life felt like a dream, a crazy unrealistic story and if he were to step off the roller coaster now, he feared that his luck would end as quickly as it began. But right now, it was nice, and immensely therapeutic, to finally take a breath of fresh air. Fresh, Mediterranean sea air.

“ _…Alors je lui ai dit, Jean Pierre, si tous mangez tout le thon, je jure par tous les saints, je tous castrer!_ [And so I told him, Jean Pierre, if you eat all that tuna I swear to all the Saints I will castrate you]!”

“ _Oui,_ ” Chris replied thoughtlessly, and took another sip of coffee. God, it was so much better than the coffee back home. The breakfast was amazing, he apparently unknowingly made friends with two French grandmas (though the other one was already nodding off), and the view of the sea from the terrace was spectacular.

He momentarily got lost in thought, an idea for the book came into his mind, and he did not hear a man approach their table. Chris only noticed him when the stranger cleared his throat.

“Is my godmother giving you any trouble?” he repeated his question, and Chris finally saw him, standing near the floral lady and holding her gently by the shoulders, while she was muttering something in French to him.

“Oh, no! No, n-not at all, she’s lovely,” Chris stuttered, flushing a little. Though it was just his second day, judging by all the people he encountered, he thought this was a strictly elderly-only inn. He did not expect a gorgeous curly-haired man who seemed to be in his late twenties to show up quite so suddenly.

Said man was dressed in a striped blue and white shirt and simple jeans shorts, and was staring him with curiosity mixed with mischief. God, could he be a fan? Or a paparazzi? Even here people watched Glee? Chris suddenly regretted not bringing his shades with him. He felt exposed.

“That’s nice of you to say, I can see that she’s fond of you too…” the stranger trailed off, looking at him questioningly, his bright brown eyes shining, “May I ask your name?”

“Chris,” he deliberately avoided saying his last name, and extended a hand in greeting.

“I’m Michael, nice to meet you,” the man shook his hand, and his palms were warm.

“Oh, are you not French?” It only occurred to Chris now, with the quite un-French pronunciation of the name Michael, that the stranger addressed him in English. 

“I’m… a mix of everything, darling,” Michael smiled, and then added, speaking to the floral lady, “Lucille, it’s time to go to the city, remember? I’m driving the two of you,” and laughed when she adorably frowned at him, clearly not understanding his fluent English.

The sudden endearment made Chris’ eyes widen. It was clear that Michael was a little older than him, but in his tone of voice and movements there was a child-like playfulness. Chris hated to judge based on stereotypes, but there was a feeling Michael played for his team.

“I hope we’ll see each other again,” he said, passing a hand through that head of curls, and Chris did not know if he was flirting or teasing or genuinely expressing his wishes. He did not have the experience to detect such overtones. He smiled and nodded in return, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Ugh, why did he have to blush so easily?

With previous ease, Michael winked at him and escorted the two ladies outside, while Chris made an effort not to follow him with his eyes, instead waving at Lucille and her friend.

Soon all thoughts of the mysterious not-French man left him, as he looked at the shimmering lights reflecting on the white-crested aquamarine waves. The sea looked amazing, and despite all reason, Chris decided it was time to hit the beach.

*

It was only his second day here and Chris’ hands itched to get started on his next novel. He could not do anything about it. He was a workaholic, and it was incurable. Laying on a beach for a whole day might have been fun at first, but it was entirely enough. Even though he used abundant sunscreen and miraculously did not burn his pale skin, the heat gave him a slight headache. People-watching was amusing, but not as much fun as it could’ve been with a friend. He could easily imagine what Ashley might tell him about some of these folks.

He swam a lot and enjoyed the splashes of the big waves, stayed in the water until the pads on his fingers were sufficiently wrinkled. It was silly, but as soon as he noticed the pads of his fingers wrinkling he immediately had to get out of the water. Since he was a kid, who spent most of the time wandering in fairy tale worlds, he believed that it was the first step of turning into a frog, and the irrational fear stayed with him.

So that day, instead of solving another crossword puzzle and lying on a towel surrounded by golden sand, Chris bought some ready-made seafood from a small restaurant just outside the hotel area, and headed back towards the inn. It was more of a gorgeous retirement home, rather than an inn, with a little kitchenette in every room. He decided not to be stringy, now that he was making enormous amounts of money with Glee, and asked for a room with a balcony. It felt like his own little apartment. 

After heating up the amazing seafood risotto, Chris settled on the balcony with his laptop, and immediately opened a new document. The balcony was truly something out of his dreams, with lots of plants growing out of myriad of vases of all shapes and sizes, obscuring the view from the neighbors, and with an amazing panorama of the sea and the settling sun. The light breeze was cooling the drops of saltiness on his overheated skin. 

Chris did not even bother buttoning up his shirt, which was kind of weird for him, seemed to be almost a rebellious gesture. The seafood was delicious, giant shrimps and calamari and octopus, but the more Chris ate, the more he realized he wouldn’t be able to finish it all. It proved once again that one should not order while hungry. Even with his best efforts, half of the plate remained untouched. For the second time that day he wished he brought a friend over. He messaged Ashley, but she did not reply, probably busy with her work and tight schedule. Chris sighed. 

He stared blankly at the word document.

The sun settled over the horizon, painting with gorgeous shades of red and yellow, the sky its canvas. He opened up a can of Diet Coke, his favorite. He could not live without it, even here, half the world away from home.

He thinks about life, suddenly overwhelmed. The new document seemed an entirely insurmountable task. In moments like this, he cannot believe he is himself. He has led this life of a Cinderfella and now that he was on top, the power was exhilarating. He had enough money to fulfill any dream. He had enough money not to think about surviving. He had enough money to make real change. He also had a contract with Glee for a few more seasons, and that is good too. But most of all, he desired to write something that was worth it, a great sequel to his story, to once again share a piece of him, for the children to love and enjoy. 

Suddenly Chris realizes that it is entirely dark outside. The only fireflies of light come from the distant cruise ships, the little sidelight on his balcony and the open laptop.

Chris hears a muffled sound of the piano, a string of familiar notes. He smiles, as it reminds him about his work on Glee.

It probably comes from downstairs… He hears voices, bursts of laughter, there is probably quite a crowd. The elderly guests of the inn like to spend their evenings together. Chris does not feel like going down and joining them. He stays on the balcony for a while longer, until the sea breeze gets a little too cold. 

He sleeps peacefully that night, perhaps, for the first time in years.

The next day Chris sleeps in late – he does not remember getting up at past 12 o’clock, like, since high school. It seems a really long time ago and not so long ago at the same time. He lays in bed, without getting up, just listens to the waves and takes in the surroundings of this strange room, in the silence of his phone. Eventually, takes out the laptop and pointlessly surfs the internet, just takes a small bathroom break, brushes his teeth and comes back to bed with some fruit – stays in there for half a day. Thank god for air-conditioning. Looks at cat photos. Binge-watches some show that he wanted to catch up on. Finally relaxes to the full extent, and it feels incredibly good.

Without even noticing its arrival, Chris marvels that it is evening again. He feels a little bit guilty for not having done anything at all during the day, but at the same time, who cares? It is his vacation after all.

He is so refreshed from his day without socializing, that he decides to come down and see what the elderly folks like to do when they gather in the big hall and the adjacent terrace during the evenings.

As Chris descends the stairs, the familiar piano notes hit him. He knows this song, he actually… God, it is embarrassing, he proposed it for Ryan multiple times, said it would have been perfect for Kurt’s character. But Ryan turned it down. Why is it playing here?

Chris goes to sit at the high stool at the bar. 

As he listens to the piano man, he realizes that no one could have that voice. Only the man himself.

Indeed.

Chris smirks knowingly when he meets the not-French man’s eyes, but his heart is pounding crazily in his chest. 

Well, hello stranger.

*

“So, really, ‘Michael’? I thought it was… Mika,” he cannot help but tease.

“Mika is my stage name, Mr Christopher Colfer,” Mika says, not in the least embarrassed that his identity has been revealed, and mischievous as before, and Chris smiles.

“Oh well, my disguise is not strong enough too I guess.”

“You actually think I wouldn’t recognize you? We share another godmother, Chris,” Mika laughs at Chris’ confused face, and then signals to the bartender for two fancy cocktails.

Even though Chris is actually allowed to legally drink now and at heart he feels older than the world, it still feels strange to him. He briefly considers it a victory that Mika does not ask him if he can legally drink. Maybe he does manage to look more mature and like he actually knows what he is doing. Maybe it is just the European way.

“What did you mean by ‘share another godmother’?” he asks hesitantly. He does not want to appear dumb by not getting the reference, but he has to ask.

“Kristen Chenoweth. She adores you, it is obnoxious how much she talks about you. Utterly disgusting,” Mika explains with such a radiant smile, it is apparent he is trying to tease the hell out of him.

“Our love is mutual, what a horrible woman,” Chris says with an equally radiant smile.

He loves the easy banter. Somehow, he never ever clicked quite so easily with boys his age. It is not a secret that men a few years older have more chances at catching his attention. Chris wonders briefly if that means he is more mature than his peers, or if it is just his fetish for someone who is more intelligent, more experienced, a witty talker. Would it be rude to whip out his phone and quickly check Mika’s age on his Wikipedia page? Chris decides against it, though his hands are itching to do that.

“So tell me, what are you doing here, quite frankly, in the middle of nowhere?” Mika settles on the stool next to Chris.

“I just… needed to breathe,” Chris plays with the colorful umbrella in his cocktail, “The last few years of my life were quite intense, I even forgot what it means to sleep.”

“I hope you enjoy yourself here. I love France, it’s been love at first sight for me. French language, the food, the people, the scenery.”

“I’m not so good with the language, but I do appreciate the rest of what you have mentioned,” Chris says politely.

“Well, it is indeed hard sometimes, if you do not speak the language. Especially here. But you are in luck, because you have met me! I could help you, if you’re ever in trouble,” Mika says easily, “Is your room nice? Did you rent a car?”

“I did,” Chris is a little taken aback by the questions. He feels a little silly, he thinks he should be the one more open to socialize, since he’s American, and Mika should be more closed off, and instead it’s the other way round. However, he shouldn’t stereotype…

“Wait, why are _you_ here though?” Chris asks suddenly.

“Oh, it is a big big secret, and I am not allowed to tell you,” Mika says, and then passes a hand through his curly hair, and Chris thinks that apparently, this is his signature gesture, “But I will tell you, just after a couple of songs, if you are willing to wait.”

Chris looks at him, at a loss for words, while this man suavely stands and goes once again towards the piano. The crowd of elderly ladies’ cheers, while the gentlemen, who were playing a card game, clap enthusiastically.

“Quel dragueur… [What a flirt]”, mumbles the bartender fondly, shaking his head in mock disapprovement, and even though Chris does not catch the French, he nods, because he somehow understands what the guy means. 

The piano notes of Billy Brown begin, and Chris feels something tingling inside of him.

 _Oh, Billy Brown had lived an ordinary life_  
_Two kids, a dog and the precautionary wife_  
_While it was all going accordingly to plan_  
_Then Billy Brown fell in love with another man…_

Even though these elderly folks who keep clapping to the rhythm do not understand the lyrics, he does. He did when he was younger, remembers listening to this song wearing headphones in his room and feeling a wave of relief washing over him, relief of being understood, of being accepted.

He is absolutely sure that Mika did not choose this song randomly, as there is that pleasant feeling of becoming an accomplice, that establishes between people who are well aware of each other’s complementary sexualities, even though nothing has been explicitly said.

Chris is also sure, that he will wait at the bar, for as long as it takes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris wakes up early the next morning.

He knows he should have slept longer, but there is that excitement inside of him, that has not quite washed off. The previous evening Mika has played a lot of songs, and then stayed with him at the bar until closing time.

They chatted about anything and everything, and Chris could not be more grateful for the company. Not that French grandmas were boring, however they probably could not relate to his problems of sudden fame, of being bullied at school, of being young and gay in a world that does not accept you. Or maybe they could share some elderly wisdom with him, but since they did not speak English, there was that minor hindrance too.

Mika on the other hand, was everything they were not.

Chris rolls into the pillow and hides his face in the cool side. The light wind from the open balcony brought a little bit of relief, but the coolness of the pillow was still immensely refreshing on his flushed face.

Then Mika disappeared as quickly as he came, and Chris was suspecting that his second dream job since he was little would probably be an illusionist or a magician. 

Before disappearing, however, he told Chris, as promised, about why he happened to be at this inn. 

Apparently, he took a few days off to get inspired, because he needed to release a new album soon, and decided to come to Southern France. The moment was just right, the place suited well, even though arriving here was by no means planned. He was staying at another hotel in another town a few kilometers away just for a couple of days, however, decided to visit his godmother Lucille and her friend, while they were on vacation too. Coming here on an impulse, he felt like he did the right thing, and booked his room for another two weeks. Lucille was so happy to see him, that he immediately decided to attend to her, since her health was quite poor these days. The inspiration from the views and the small towns, the nature, the sea was just immensely suitable.

“It was the right thing to do. I just felt it,” he repeated, looking right into Chris’ eyes, and Chris felt something tug at his wrists.

Laying for some more, Chris dozes off. He is not sure if he hears piano music, or it is just a dream, but it lulls him for another half hour. He wakes up again well rested. Sleeping without a shirt is kind of strange, but he cannot do otherwise with the heat. He looks up to see himself reflected in the mirror on the opposite end of the room. Well, he surely has changed quickly in these years. The sheets are pooling around his hips, revealing his arms and torso. He barely recognizes himself.

He looks… Nice. The muscles are not at all those of a young freshman, his chest is broader, his waist leaner. The constant pressure of dancing practices on Glee has done him good. There is something hedonistic in watching himself in the mirror, without a shirt, just looking at his own body, a young male body in full bloom. It is strange, and liberating at the same time.

Soon he feels the awkwardness set in, notices the too-big fingers, the asymmetry in the face, his nose, and all those other details that come out after you look at something for long enough. He pulls the blanket closer, and looks at the balcony, and the sea beyond it, instead.

His stomach rumbles, so he decides to finish up the fruit he has in the fridge. Evenly-cut melon slices, peaches that taste like pure honey, some fresh strawberries. Then, he heads to the beach.

*

The sea is kind of wavy today, there is a strong wind that might have been unpleasant, but not during such a heat. Chris makes sure to apply sunscreen and have his sunglasses on. Chris does not want to go for a swim just yet, choosing to enjoy people-watching for now. He looks at a young couple who are having fun in the big waves. He is holding her in his arms, swaying her, she is laughing and clinging to him, splashing around. 

The sea is something that has fascinated him since forever. There was not a lot to look at in Clovis, California, so the opportunities to explore were not plentiful until Glee. There is so much magic in the world, so much to see and experience.

He tries to have that mindset inside of him when he leaves, towards the evening, to the hotel. It is useful for nurturing his muse, for getting on with writing the book.

Picking up some ready-made dinner from the restaurant, he rushes to his spot out on the balcony. The sea has calmed by now, and is gently caressing the sand, its motions reminding of a tired mother trying to lull her child to sleep.

Chris opens his word document resolutely, and begins typing his novel. He absolutely adores returning to his characters, writing the dialogue, imagining the adventures of the two Bailey twins. He remembers the dinner only after an hour, and has to actually pop it in the microwave, because it turned cold.

The night falls over the sky, but Chris does not notice, writing, composing, fantasizing, editing. On some days, the writing comes incredibly easy to him, and he loves it, loves the mere process of creation, loves the inspiration pulsing in his fingers.

Some lights pouring from the main hall illuminate the little terrace underneath his balcony. The night air, still hot from the day, is giving him a warm sense of content.

Suddenly, he hears soft piano notes, and a few encouraging claps from the crowd.

He smiles. No way he will resist the temptation to come downstairs.

* 

Chris deliberately chooses the farthest table from the piano. He cannot let himself be distracted, he tells himself, just wants to be inspired.

However, when the tall curly man takes a break and comes closer, Chris is secretly glad for the distraction.

“Working on your next novel?” he asks, suavely, handing Chris a glass of water.

“Yes, in fact,” Chris smiles, “Your music gives me inspiration.”

“I’m glad to hear that I’m not disturbing,” Mika says, sitting down next to him.

“Not at all,” Chris takes a sip. He really needed some water, how did Mika know? “I actually heard it from the balcony, but decided to come down to hear it better.”

“And that is why you chose the farthest table?” Mika asks innocently.

‘Just did not want to be so close… You are pulling me in so fast…’ thinks Chris, blushing, but instead, replies:

“It is closer to the sea here. Best spot to enjoy both the music and the scenery,” Chris shrugs, trying to keep cool.

“Good point,” Mika laughs contagiously, and then puts a hand on his shoulder in a parting gesture, “Then I’ll go play for you.”

Chris bites his lip, watching him go.

“By the way,” says Mika, turning gracefully, “I loved Struck By Lightning. Great movie.”

“Thanks,” Chris replies lamely, not knowing how to process this information. He feels like anyone could have watched a couple of episodes of Glee, since they can casually appear on TV these days, but watching Struck by Lightning is probably a proof of a bigger interest in him, isn’t it?

The night goes by quickly. Chris wishes it could last a little longer, because there is nothing better than the fusion of the soft piano music and the sound of the sea.

*

They are probably doing it all backwards, thinks Chris to himself a few mornings after that, while brushing his teeth.

Well, Mika did not ask him for his number or added him in any messenger. Is he actually allowed to think that they are doing anything at all? Or is he making the whole thing up in his head?

They saw each other a couple of times around the inn. Mika was attending to Lucille. Chris was having breakfast in the hall. Mika was speaking to the bartender. Chris was working on his laptop. They exchanged a couple of words at the swimming pool, even though Chris came there just to see if he would have liked swimming in a pool instead, since the waves were so big on that day. He ended up doing just a few laps, then went back to his room. It was embarrassing to swim in front of Mika, who was sitting with the two grandmas under a big umbrella and talking animatedly, like there was nothing more interesting than telling them his fascinating story. Why was it embarrassing then, if he wasn’t even looking? Chris did not know why. Or maybe he did.

Chris hesitates in front of the mirror. Then finishes brushing his teeth, washes his face thoroughly. The hair sticks to his forehead and makes him look younger, like a high schooler. He reaches for the styling cream.

On the other hand, someone like Mika is refreshing. There are guys throwing themselves at him in packs back in LA. It is not surprising, since the fame came, he has to be careful. Anyone and everyone is trying to use him for an influence, to gain power, to land a role or just appear in a magazine. There have been some encounters, but they were all plagued by that strange feeling that no one is taking him seriously, no one wants to know the real Chris.

Mika is different. Not only he is incredibly famous too, but he seems to be playing a game. He is not directly pursuing him, like all those desperate guys back home. Chris does not know what the stakes are, but he finds himself too involved in this game.

Or maybe it is just the summer heat and the general lack of constant activity that make him imagine things. Not all gay guys who meet each other are bound to have some sort of romantic connection after all. Maybe they are just casual acquaintances, Mika has no interest in him, and he is reading all the signals in the wrong way.

He comes down for breakfast a couple of days after that, and Mika is standing there with the car keys in his hand.

“Care to go to the city with me?” he asks, as if they had agreed to this on the previous night or as if they have been friends for a long time.

And even though Chris had his whole day planned out in front of him: breakfast in the lobby, then beach time, then resting in the hotel, and then writing until late, now it is all crumbling apart like a sand castle under a big wave of other possibilities, of adventure.

So much for reading the signals wrong, he thinks to himself, as he goes to sit in Mika’s red car, and fastens the seatbelt.

“What city did you mean by the way?” he asks, when Mika pulls out of the driveway.

He just laughs, does not reply.

“You are something else, aren’t you?” Mika asks, and Chris does not know what he means, just that there is a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

*

They arrive in a small town that Chris has passed on his way from the airport in the rented car. It has an old castle on a cliff, a sweet little city center with paved streets and a few stores. There was even some sort of marketplace. It was not busy in the least, as if still waking up from the slumber.

“Do you cook for yourself?” asks Mika casually.

“I try to,” Chris says. That is a total lie. Even though he has the room with the kitchenette, it mostly means that he can use the microwave and the fridge, because having dinner alone at the restaurant every day is kind of depressing.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Well,” Chris says, “I cut the fruit pretty well.”

Mika laughs so hard, that Chris is grateful they have already parked, otherwise that would have caused an accident.

“I will cook you some supper today, if you want. French style. I cannot allow that you will not eat this amazing local food, while staying here on vacation.”

“Oh,” Chris does not have the time to agree or refuse, as they are already getting out of the car and going towards the market place.

Mika greets a few vendors as if they are his close friends. He speaks some speedy French with them, that Chris does not get, he catches only “ _américain_ ” and “ _mon ami_ ” [my friend]. He smiles at the people shyly.

“Hi! I mean… _Enchanté_ ,” he says insecurely, and the group of middle-aged women vendors all smile at him and coo.

“It’s okay, they do not bite,” Mika says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I will show you something great now.”

They proceed to walk between the big stands filled with all kinds of fruit, vegetables, herbs. Mika looks so excited, like a kid at a sweets shop. He picks up the colorful bell peppers as if he wants to paint with their hues, and not eat them. He gives Chris some herbs to smell, tells him about the unique features of each, and what they should be paired up with. He picks up a handful of seeds and then nuts, just to feel them in his hands, and encourages Chris to do the same. They buy fruit, so much fruit, and Mika bargains like a madman, but then Chris notices that he actually pays the full price, and everyone greets him with a smile.

Chris is too entranced by this bubbly, lively man to look away, that he does not actually notice what exactly he has bought, or how much should he pay him back. He reaches for the wallet in the pocket of his jeans, but Mika just gives him a look which seems to say ‘Oh honey, please’.

They also stop at the cheese shop, and the wine shop, and the same story repeats itself, Mika talks about the best pairings for the wine, the best cheese of this province, how it all combines, and Chris feels like he has never learned, never even thought so much about food in just an hour or so. He is sure he will forget everything at once, but the experience leaves him totally overwhelmed with positive feelings.

“Do you want to go see the castle before we head back to your place?” Mika asks casually when they return to the car, and Chris freezes. He never actually invited Mika to his place, but, as he is making the meal, it is only logical that Chris provides the kitchen, or is it not? He hates that he is so inexperienced in all of this, he does not know if it is normal if…

“Hey, earth to Chris,” Mika waves a hand before his eyes, and Chris swallows back a lump.

“Yeah, castle, sure, yes!” he says.

Mika, even though he already put the key in the ignition, stops for a second and turns to Chris.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’m a little bit intense, that’s just the way I am,” he says, “I did not even think that was maybe… A little forward or inappropriate. For you. If you do not want me to come back to yours it is okay, we can go to Lucille’s room. I just thought that you have a nice view, and I could take Lucille to the beach later on, I was going to stay at your hotel anyway.”

“A serial killer would say the same,” Chris says, and scolds himself immediately. Jesus, he should not say everything he thinks, that is absolutely not normal in any circumstances.

“Darling, I will make you lunch. What kind of serial killer would do that?” Mika says, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Hannibal?” Chris says. That’s two strikes already. Why can’t he be just normal and stop accusing this gorgeous man who wants to cook him a meal of being a cannibal? What is wrong with him?

“Well, I only have white wine and that does not go well with meat,” Mika says seriously, and Chris laughs until his eyes are crinkling adorably. The worry dissipates completely. As they drive uphill to the castle ruins, Chris enjoys the wind coming at him full speed from the window, loves the view of the sea.

The ruins of the castle are beautiful, and completely deserted. Immediately, Chris gets immersed in thoughts about his book, thinks about the castles that he has conjured up for his story. There are obviously not a lot of castles in California, so he enjoys it immensely. They wander around it aimlessly, there are just a few walls left, and a beautiful viewpoint that has a great view of the sea. Chris’s brain stars working on ideas, absorbing the atmosphere.

“What are you thinking about?” Mika asks, with a gentle smile, and Chris wakes up from his trance.

“Just… Some ideas for my book,” Chris replies slowly, taking all the scenery in.

“Always working,” Mika reprimands, but then keeps silent and looks at the distant sailing ships too.

“This place is amazing,” murmurs Chris.

Chris has stayed at the hotel for a week now, but never thought of going out to explore the area. How dull would his holiday have been, were it not for Mika? Just his presence, in the little things - his sudden appearance, the constant bumping into him everywhere in the hotel, the piano songs in the evenings, have already brought so much more to his holiday.

“I’m fond of it too,” Mika says, not looking at the scenery, but at Chris. Chris does not notice, too focused on the majestic view of the big waves, smashing against the rocks under the castle cliff.


	3. Chapter 3

Mika is dancing in the kitchenette. Chris’s kitchenette.

Chris is very glad that he is tidy and organized, and his room did not look like a mess when they arrived. He’s a little ashamed of all the cans of Diet coke in the fridge, but thankfully, Mika does not mention it. He is very focused on the cooking, but at the same time humming-singing one of his classics.

 _Do I attract you?_  
_Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?_  
_Am I too dirty?_  
_Am I too flirty?_  
_Do I like what you like?_

He gave Chris some cheese to slice, some cherry tomatoes to chop, and is cooking the fish himself, working the spices, herbs, some kind of sauce to coat it in. Chris is singing along, smiling. This used to be one of his favorites. He would have totally loved to sing it on Glee, as Kurt.

 _I could be wholesome_  
_I could be loathsome_  
_I guess I'm a little bit shy_  
_Why don't you like me?_  
_Why don't you like me without making me try?_

They both turn to each other at the last verse and laugh.

Mika pours them two glasses of wine.

“Let’s toast,” he proposes theatrically, and Chris raises his glass too, “To our meeting.”

“To our meeting!” Chris echoes, and takes a sip from his glass. It does not taste like anything particularly extraordinary, just wine, especially after a lifetime of Diet Cokes.

They bring the roasted fish and the salad and the cheese plate, and also the fruit outside, serve it on the balcony. The table is almost too small to accommodate all of this, but they make it work.

“This is actually the most delicious fish I have eaten in my entire life,” Chris says enthusiastically, after just taking a bite, and Mika looks casually pleased, even though Chris can tell that on the inside his is proud and ecstatic.

Chris tries a little bit of everything. He savors the flavors, just like Mika tells him to do, starts to enjoy the wine a little bit more. Is it really all so tasty, or does it just become tasty thanks to the magical powers of the handsome man sitting in front of him? He does not know, and does not care. This is the holiday he has always wanted for himself.

He looks from the balcony at the sea, and the people on the beach. The heat is crawling under everyone’s skin, it is already past midday, and he is feeling overheated too. Or maybe it is the wine. He is having his third glass already.

“How have you managed so far without speaking French?” Mika asks, genuinely interested, “The locals do not like to hear English, as far as I know.”

“Oh, I try to get by. I studied French in school. Not that it helped,” Chris shrugs, “But still, the most confusing thing are the numbers. How does eighty make any sense?”

“Twenty-by-four is perfectly reasonable,” Mika says, with a smile.

“Yeah, right,” Chris shrugs, then remembers something, “Actually, I even know a joke in French.”

“Do tell!” Mika says, with childlike excitement.

“What do French people call a really bad Thursday?” 

“What?” Mika asks, his eyes shining with wonder.

“A Tra _jeudi_ ,” Chris replies, his face emotionless, and Mika laughs so hard he actually knocks down the glass of wine and it smashes on the floor of the balcony. He cannot stop laughing even when Chris leads him inside, cleans up his wound and disinfects it, uses a band-aid on it to stop the blood.

Chris’ stomach is doing somersaults. It feels so intimate, all of this, preparing and sharing a meal, the easy chatting, the teasing and the smiles, making him laugh, taking him by the hand and disinfecting his wound, caring for him. 

Even though he already applied the band-aid, he remains standing with Mika’s hand in his, not willing to let go. Mika’s giggles soften, but he moves closer, imperceptibly, almost on an inner impulse.

Before Chris knows it, he’s leaning down, and kissing his lips gently, softly, adoringly. Chris kisses him back, not quite believing it, not quite daring to believe that this is true. He loves the saltiness of his lips, the taste of the wine, the way he has to lean up to meet Mika halfway, the way he delicately puts the not-injured hand on his neck, pulling him in, trying to taste more of him, to give him more.

“ _Magnifique_ ,” he whispers, barely audible, between kisses, and Chris moans a little, cannot help it, leans in even closer, puts a hand on his shoulder.

It is so hot, or maybe it is just the abnormal summer heat, or maybe it is just his heart, pumping blood like it is his last day of being young and in love.

* 

After that, there is no awkwardness.

Chris is weirded out by that the most. Everything is easy with that curly-haired man. Everything is a game, but at the same time, every game, every emotion is meaningful, it is earnest.

He says that they will see each other around, and then strokes his face and leaves him, goes to take care of Lucille, like he has promised he would.

Chris is relieved and taken aback at the same time.

He goes back to the balcony, sweeps away the rest of the glass and sits there a while longer, munching on the fruit. He feels like he is overthinking the whole deal.

But then, it was the sweetest of kisses, and he will remember it fondly, just like this balcony, just like the coast of Provence, and all of this, his summer dream.

* 

He spends a few days without seeing Mika around, but he does not feel disappointed, for some reason.

The sun is pleasant, the beach is great, he is relaxing wonderfully.

One evening he skypes with his family back home, tells them about his holiday, and the food, and the castle, and (almost) everything that happened. They are glad for him, finally can sigh with relief that their boy is not killing himself at work, is enjoying a proper holiday like he deserves it.

“Do you miss us?” they shout at the camera, because the connection is a little off.

“Of course!” he shouts back. But at the same time, though he misses everyone dearly, he is glad that he decided to go on holidays alone. He can focus a little bit on himself, on his own feelings, dreams, well-being. It is incredibly refreshing.

The next day he goes for a long drive, along the coast. The road is nice, and the views even more so. He puts on some of his favorite tracks, and sings along, not caring about being off pitch or not getting all the lyrics right. He is on vacation, goddamn. He can sing as he pleases!

Chris dines at a fancy restaurant probably on the other end of the coast, with a great view of the sea, then makes his way back with the setting sun on his right.

When he parks the car, he hears the familiar piano notes coming from the big hall. His heart flutters in his chest.

_Mais l'amour… Fait ce qu'il veut_

_Fait ce qu'il veut de moi_

_[But love does what it wants_

_Does what it wants to me]_

It does indeed, he thinks, crossing the hall and smiling at Mika, who hits the wrong notes just then and grins, embarrassed. He finishes listening to the song, before heading back to his room.

*

On the next day, when Chris comes down for breakfast, Mika is there with his two grandmas. He waves at him to join them.

The breakfast proceeds easily, and Chris marvels at Mika’s ability to fall so easily in and out of a conversation. They can have a meal together like best friends or even a couple, and they can also not talk to each other for a couple of days, and everything is incredibly fine.

Chris tries to talk in French, but usually he needs Mika to translate for him. He addresses the ladies, trying to tell how much he loved his grandmother and how much she influenced him in creating his fairy tale characters. They nod and smile at him, tell him he’s an “incredible young gentleman”. In Mika’s mouth, it sounds like a great compliment.

After breakfast, Chris gets up to leave, he actually had plans of hitting the beach, but Mika stops him.

“What do you think about bicycles? We could go on a picnic.”

And even though Chris was never particularly fond of bicycles, he agrees in an instant.

They drive in Mika’s car to the city, he picks up a fresh baguette from the bakery, some cheese, a bottle of water, fruits. Apparently, there is a bike rental in town. From there, Mika knows how to get to the country side route, along a river.

Even though Chris came mostly for the sea, he finds himself enjoying the fields, the vineyards they pass. There are some local people that they meet from time to time, all telling them a welcoming “ _Bonjour!_ ” or a “ _Ca va?_ ”, and it feels like he actually knows these people, like they are his friends, it feels warm and welcoming.

He enjoys pedaling lazily and the easy silence between them, since it is not actually comfortable to talk on bikes. He cannot help to look at Mika pedaling in front of him, leading the way. Mika’s broad back, his muscles flexing as he pedals, his strong arms, those of a man in full bloom.

“Did you enjoy the sights?” Mika asks him, when they park the bikes in a small clearing near the river, under a big oak tree.

“Oh, yes,” Chris says, blushing, trying not to let his mind run wild.

They eat on a blanket near the water, talk about silly things, and serious things, and fun things, share life experiences. Chris once again thinks about how similar their destinies have been.

“I’ve always known I was different. I never fit in at school, it was an absolute nightmare,” Mika says casually, popping a grape in his mouth, “The kids would all make fun of me, so I had no friends at all. I would invent them all, pretend I had them. I guess having imaginary friends just makes you get bullied more.”

“I did the same. I escaped into fairytales, into theatre.” He recalls that period of his life with a dull pain in his chest. The children were vicious to him, and going to school was a daily torture. But he managed to survive, thankfully, “Well, at least, coming out was not necessary. The slurs pretty much did it for me.”

Mika smiles sadly, immersed into his own memories, no doubt, thinking about his own life. They exchange stories of their first crushes, first loves. They talk easily, and Chris remembers that kiss they shared in his room, wonders if Mika is thinking about it too, if it was even real, or just a dream he made up.

“For me, coming out is a pain in the ass, every time. People want to put me in a box, and I hate that,” Mika says, “They do not appreciate my art, they just want to put a label on me, telling everyone I’m gay or I’m bi, or I’m queer. I feel like I’m much more than that, you know? I’m much more than my attraction to other people. There are so many sides to me, I can speak a lot of languages, I look good in red, I have golden shoes! Why not make that a headline? Instead, all people ever think about is making a scandal out of something,” he pauses for a second, then adds softly, “I do not care for people’s bodies, I care for their minds, I fall in love with wit, with a person’s inner self.”

It is all confessions that do not get told to complete strangers, it is something much more intimate, and Chris feels it in his heart. Something precious. He loves this feeling of being trusted. He loves this feeling of understanding wholeheartedly, while still learning another viewpoint.

“It gets lonely in LA,” Chris confesses, having a bite of the fresh baguette, “I feel like no one takes me for who I am, they just see me for who I play. I had a guy once, who called me ‘Kurt’ like three times, while we were intimate. I never wanted to see him again after that, obviously.”

“It sounds awful,” Mika laughs soundlessly, then shakes his head in disbelief, “It gets lonely for me too. I’m a little bit insane, I will admit it. Not a lot of people can put up with my crazy personality. I am the type of person who can just take off and leave for Budapest because of an argument. Or smash a TV set with a hammer. Not to mention that with the music, and the tours, there is not much room for stable romance. Even though… Sometimes… I would like that a lot.”

He plays with the grass when he says that, looks at the river.

Chris does not say anything, thinking about how hard it is to find real romance. Whether he will ever find that perfect person at all.

Suddenly Mika is pulling at his own shirt, and taking off his shorts, and in an instant, he is already running to the river, only in his boxers, and Chris looks at him in disbelief, his heart going crazy in his chest.

“Come on!” Mika laughs, splashing around in the river, like an absolute madman, “Come here! Chris!”

Chris hesitates a second. Then thinks, that if he does not do it, he will regret it for the rest of his life, and takes off his shirt too.

*

Riding back in half-wet clothes is not fun, but Chris does care at all. He is more concerned that his hair now looks like a mess, not only because it is wet and sticking to his forehead, but because Mika has been deliberately making it into a mess while they were swimming and playing around in the river.

The man from the bike rental is not really happy that the bikes are all wet, but Mika tells him something along the lines that is has been raining heavily. The shop owner looks at him from under his glasses, since there has not been a single cloud in the sky for a whole week, and they both knew it perfectly. When the shop owner sighs and lets them go, Mika winks at Chris, and he cannot help but giggle.

Then he drives them back to the hotel, and they sing along some songs they hear on the radio, Chris failing catastrophically, since they are all French, but not caring for a single moment.

Mika accompanies him back to the room, making it clear that now he needs to go check on Lucille.

Chris having already opened his room, watches him go along the corridor. He is about to step inside, when he turns to Mika, hesitantly.

“Will I see you again?” Chris asks, because the days are numbered, and he does not want Mika to go, does not want this holiday to end.

“Of course,” Mika says, and actually comes back a few steps. Then, leans in to kiss him, gently, chastely, leaving Chris longing for more, longing for a whole afternoon of those sweet butterfly kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

On this particular day, it is raining.

It is raining for the first time since Chris came here. The light drops are producing a whole orchestra worth of sounds on the roofs, they bring calm and peace.

Chris has his breakfast alone, because it was kind of late when he managed to get up, lulled into sleep by the rain.

He goes up and sits on his balcony, trying to write, but nothing comes to him, he just stares at the sea, getting dotted by little raindrops, at some dogs playing on the beach under the rain.

After lunch, when he once again sits down behind his laptop, he hears some sad piano music from the hall. He needs to stop himself from leaping downstairs. He makes himself write some more, but cannot, for the love of him, concentrate. Thinks about the tall curly-haired man, that has entered most of his thoughts in this short amount of time.

It is clear that they will have no future, with the amazingly busy lives they lead, but wouldn’t it have been amazing? Wouldn’t it be nice…

Chris notices that he is already leaving the room, when the door shuts closed behind him. He comes down, without any plan of what he would say to Mika once he sees him.

“Hi!” Mika says, immediately stopping his sad piano notes, “I was actually hoping to see you.”

And with that, with only a phrase, it is like the sun is shining again.

“Yeah, me too,” he says softly, because it is true.

“Since we cannot go anywhere with this weather, can I come to your room and watch you write?”

“You would like that?” Chris asks, surprised.

“Of course. You look so concentrated. Also your glasses just add to the whole ‘I’m a professional writer’ thing.”

“Okay, sure,” says Chris, completely astounded. Even though he was hoping they would end up in his room together, he would have never had the courage to just ask Mika to come upstairs. But the universe tends to listen to people’s wishes.

Mika grabs two ice-creams from the freezer in the bar, leaves some money for the bartender, who is nowhere to be seen.

They come upstairs and enter Chris’ room as if they were teenagers on a school trip, just wanting to have a relaxing afternoon together, instead of going to the museum as planned.

They sit on the balcony at first, and eat the ice-creams. They are the sandwich kind, and Chris just adores it, even though he always gets messy while eating it. Right now, he probably has it all over his face. Mika laughs at him and helps him clean it up. It is such an intimate gesture, that Chris’ heart starts beating extra hard.

But Mika makes it all seem easy, and the following moment he gets chocolate all over his face too. Probably intentionally.

Then they look at the sea, and Chris decides that he actually needs to write some more.

Mika stands, and goes inside the room, silently.

Chris does not pay attention to him, just sits behind his computer, tapping at this next passage that is finally going the way he wanted it to go. Yes! He is incredibly inspired, does not even notice how much time has passed, when he finally takes his eyes off the screen.

He looks inside the room, and his face flushes immediately.

Mika is laying there, on his bed, and he has taken off his shirt. He casually leans against the headboard, his hand playing with the curls, almost absentmindedly, and he is pretending that he has absolutely no idea how immensely hot he looks right now.

‘Jesus,’ Chris thinks, too tongue-tied to speak. There is nothing, absolutely nothing happening, just a gorgeous man he has feelings for laying on his bed without a shirt on. He feels his heart drumming to the rhythm of the rain, his hands sweating.

“Come here,” Mika says softly, and it is barely audible, with the sound of the rain tapping outside.

Chris obeys, comes inside and lays down beside him, and maybe he should have undone his belt before, because now he’s struggling with it, but Mika caresses his arms, as if to say ‘there is no rush’. And indeed, time has stopped for them, nothing exists apart the two of them.

Even though Chris’s heart is pumping like crazy, even though he feels himself harden quickly, even though he wants this a lot, there is absolutely no rush.

Mika moves around him like the sea waves that Chris can hear outside, washing him over with attention. He does not take off his clothes just yet, kisses his ear, and collarbone, gives an extra nice long kiss to the place where the jaw meets the neck. He is so gentle and caring, that Chris is suddenly overcome with emotion. He is not new to this, but he is new to the slow pace, to the overwhelming attention that he feels, like he is precious just for who he is.

He thinks about the rain, and the sand, and the two of them, who met completely by chance, in this small cozy room with a balcony, expressing their mutual attraction, by making love to each other.

Because this is what is happening, their bodies intertwine, their hands wander and caress, and Chris’s eyelashes flutter. This is irresistible, and he wants more, now, but at the same time, he loves every second of this sweet sweet torture and would not give any of it away.

A finger flickers on his nipple, a hand caresses his hip, mouth kisses the corner of his lips.

He responds, maybe a little bit unsure, maybe lacking experience, but earnestly, wholeheartedly. Passes a hand through his curls like he wanted to, tugs a little, evokes a soft moan. Strokes at the strong back, enjoys the press of those hips against his.

When he comes, much much later, it is indescribable. He needs to fight back tears with how good that felt. 

He knows that they only have a few days left of this, and he is glad. Because otherwise, it would have been dangerous territory.

But right now, it is something light, but meaningful, to be enclosed into future memories.

*

On the last day, they stay at the swimming pool. The weather is still bad, and it is not advised to swim in the sea, however the swimming pool water feels warm in contrast with the cool air. There is no one swimming there, the patrons are all in the hall or terrace, playing card games.

Chris needs to leave in a couple of hours. He desperately restrains himself from kissing Mika some more, from pulling him in closer, like he has done so often, these last days.

They are not boyfriends, they are just casual lovers, whose destinies met for a short period of time, and he has known this since the beginning.

“Hey,” Mika says softly, swimming up to him, “Do not be so sad, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“Well, my holiday is ending,” Chris says lamely, his inner feelings locked deeply inside of his heart.

“But your life isn’t,” Mika says, diving underwater and then tickling his belly, until Chris giggles, “Isn’t it great?”

“I guess it is,” Chris says.

And that is what really matters. In a couple of hours he will be driving back to the airport, and Mika will turn into a distant summer memory, of sweet kisses and new experiences.

When they have their last meal together, Mika keeps talking about nothing and everything, telling him some anecdotes of his life, as if they will see each other tomorrow.

“What are the chances that we will see each other again?” Chris asks suddenly.

“What were the chances that we saw each other here?” Mika asks in return, smiling.

“Miserable,” Chris sighs, looking down on his plate. 

“But we have still met each other,” Mika replies, softly putting a hand on Chris’s.

“We did.”

“Chris, you are an amazing person,” Mika says seriously, “You are. And you will find everything you need in life, you are on the right track. Just always be who you are, this is what’s important.”

Chris does not reply. He knows that what Mika is saying is true, but it still hurts a little.

“How old are you again?” Mika asks him softly, putting down his fork.

“Twenty-two,” Chris replies, suddenly shy.

“Jesus, you’re so young,” Mika shakes his head, “I’m twenty-nine, and I feel like there is so much more that I need to do. I still feel like a teenager, who has no clue of what he is doing.”

“I feel the same,” Chris says, then hesitates, “I’m glad that I have met you.”

“I’m glad too. This is what counts.”

Mika helps him take his luggage to the car under the rain, while Lucille and her friend wave at him from the terrace.

Chris wants to steal one last kiss before he leaves, but then he decides against it.

Just hugs Mika tight, a little bit longer than necessary.

“I’ll see you again, in another lifetime,” Mika says, and then stands under the rain, waving at Chris, as he pulls from the parking lot. Chris turns the car into the street, and steals one last look at his summer romance, before driving away.


	5. Epilogue

The shooting is in full action. Season four is beginning to get filmed, and it will be frantic and full of plot twists and songs, like all the other seasons. Chris has already memorized his words for the first few episodes. 

He sits in his chair, the chair with his name on it, waiting for the make up artist to finish her touches on Brittany. He will be next.

All the excitement around him made him realize how much he missed work and being constantly active, learning moves and words, getting ready to act in front of the camera, giving his best for a dozen or so takes.

There is a bit of anxiety inside of him, like the anxiety you get on the first day of school, each year.

Even though standing at the airport he knew that France will remain what it has been, his summer vacation has ended as quickly as it began, but he could not help but feel like it changed something inside of him. He didn’t know if it was for the better or for worse.

He looks down at the pleasant tan on the skin of his arms, remembers those hugs and kisses that it has felt, remembers how the Mediterranean sea washed over him, and how the sand caressed him on the beach.

“There is some post for you,” Alla, his manager appears behind him, “I guess it is not just ordinary fanmail.”

“Oh, thank you,” he is surprised to see a small and quite heavy envelope, that Alla puts in his lap.

He is thankful for the way she tactfully avoids saying anything else and leaves him for a few minutes to open it by himself.

There is his name written neatly in a cursive, and in the other corner a simple “Your French Boy”. He flushes, but smiles fondly. Of course he could not help but writing something corny like that.

He opens the envelope, and sees that it is a brand new album “Origin of Love” by Mika, with his autograph. As far as he knows, it has not been officially released yet.

There is also a simple note which says “Thank you for the inspiration.” and a smiley face.

After the exhausting day at work, when Chris is in his car, he manages to finally, finally put the CD, like his hands were itching to do all day, in the music player. He wanted to listen to it, while getting home, but the first song comes up, and hits all of his senses at once.

He ends up sitting there in the dark, listening to the voice of the man who stole his heart, and smiling, while tears of joy stream down his face.

Then, he dries up his tears, and pulls his car out of the FOX studios parking lot.


End file.
